The Magic Position
by Erythros
Summary: A lot of things can change when you meet the right person. DHr. An extended one-shot in three parts.
1. Part I

Title: The Magic Position  
Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe. All that rightfully belongs to JK Rowling. And Magic Position belongs to Patrick Wolf. The lyrics in bold do not belong to me. :)  
Warnings: Language, then?  
Summary: A lot of things can change when you meet the right person.  
Notes: Written for 57mannequins for this year's dmhgficexchange at LJ. Beta'd by jwalamukhie. I haven't written in a long while, but while I know this isn't my best work, I'm quite proud of how it turned out. I'm telling you all now that this is full of fluff and that most of the characters featured here are in the danger of being quite out of character. But oh, well. This _is _fanfiction. XD Florean Fortescue's ice cream place is still existing, despite the death of its owner, btw.

**&&&**

**PART I – but c'mon, get back up, it's the time to live.**

_They're a strange thing, dreams._

_Sometimes, they came true; most of the time, they didn't. Sometimes, they made sense. Most of the time, they were as bizarre as, as… Potter turning evil. _

_Sometimes, I dream of the future. Far-flung, unexpected, not-quite-like-my-personality dreams, where I'm old and weary, but very much content; where I live in a small house with whitewashed walls, alone and not minding the solitude at all. No sign of a wife, of a grandchild, a son. I dream of a long stretch of sunsets and polyester robes and the Weird Sisters playing their first debut song on an old radio. And sad as it is, I find it makes sense._

_I gather I feel the same way about love._

_And I don't mind. I don't mind at all._

**&&&**

"Darling, have you heard? Your old friend Theodore recently got engaged."

I look up from buttering my toast and raise a brow in disinterest. "Oh, really? That's nice."

"Yes, to that Brocklehurst girl…" My mother skims through the Society pages of _The Daily Prophet _and holds up a picture of my old schoolmate, a familiar girl latched on her arm, their faces sourer than they should be on their engagement_. Happy_ couple, I daresay."Says here the ceremony'll take place in Wales. Hmmm. Wales, I wonder why…"

"Hmm, yes…"

"Hideous couple, if I may say so – they positively clash and look at the—"

My mother begins to lash her vicious opinions at the soon-to-be couple, but I couldn't care any less. After all, I haven't seen Theo in the last five years, never really was a close friend of his during Hogwarts, thought that Mandy Brocklehurst was quite the bint, and never really thought much of weddings, _lovely _as they were.

My mother, on the other hand, adores them, or rather, adores _attending_ them, along with the string of charity events, balls, luxurious and excessive birthday bashes of Ministry officials, and the Sunday tea parties the old rich still manage to hold even now. I like to think it gives her a sense of peace—of familiarity—after everything that had happened after the Dark Lord's fall.

We _were _the Malfoys, after all, who were absolutely _peachy _with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the cocky clan who liked blood and evil. It had taken the great Harry bloody Potter's testimony and a lot of bribery to be where we were now: a hundred thousand or so Galleons poorer, but still quite happily wealthier than a fifth of London's middle class wizarding population.

Father had been detained in Azkaban for two years since the war ended, and quite frankly, didn't last… which left Mother and I alone in a frightfully judgmental world that still thought of us as a potential threat to the fragile peace that had been achieved only five years ago.

Social pariah, that's what we were, even though Father had already died and all, and Mother and I were living quietly at home. I couldn't find any peace in any of the fields of work I pursued, and Mother was still on about her grief with Father's passing. You could say it was a time for change, and any form of escape was only a Portkey away. In our case, it was France.

And so there we were, two years in recovery. Eventually, I took a job in some French wizarding bank firm, and Mother gradually stopped crying every day and took the time to go around the country. You could say we were settled, and for the first time content since everything had been messed up. New life and all, and for the first time, unafraid, because I—_we—_were on our own. It was a different time, a glorious two years away from everything.

But now we were back—for work reasons, and for Mother who grew tired of the Riviera and missed Wiltshire. A month had passed since we'd arrived, and still, everyday, I see faces suspicious of our motives for coming back, as if we were here to start a bloody revolt of revenge or something.

But it's a stupid idea, really, because even Malfoys liked their peace, and I'm definitely not complaining that I no longer had to run secret missions of murder. While that part of my life may have been a little bit more thrilling than the present, I think I prefer these Wednesday brunches with Mother, my laid back job that takes no more than six hours a day, and my Friday lunch break trips for ice cream at Florean Fortescue's.

But the world doesn't get that, and I'd be damned if I said I cared even a little bit of what everyone thinks, because I had to get on with life, thank you very much. Even prats like me get the chance to change; five years was a long time, and even _we _learned a bit of a lesson.

"So, Draco, how are you?"

Trick question, that.

My mother's voice jolts me out of my thoughts and I look up from my breakfast plate to see her calmly sipping her tea. I inwardly roll my eyes. I know where this is going, and I know what she's getting at. _How are you?_s that follow talks about weddings and engagements are always the same, because _How are you? _actually means, _Have you met anyone new?_

And when I reply, _No, I haven't, Mother, _then it would be followed by the usual, _If you wanted, I could introduce you to yada-yada, she's the daughter of yada-yada, _or the _I have a gala coming this weekend, someone's eager to meet you, _or something of the sort, to which I would respond with a _No, thank you, Mother. I'm busy enough as it is._

But today, I'm not quite in the mood, and instead, I cut to the chase. "No mother, it's only been two months that we've been back, and I'd appreciate it if you stopped setting me up."

"Oh, but there's this _girl_ you _have _to meet, Draco," she chimes, and when she does, her gray eyes are positively alight with excitement. These days, there are, after all, only three things that could excite her: parties, shopping, and my love life. "She's wonderful—"

I raise an elegant brow. "Aren't they all?" Because they really all _were, _at least in her opinion. Wonderful could mean a lot of things.

She ignores my comment and prattles on about her latest discovery. "—and intelligent, and quite the charmer. Pretty, too, but that's to be expected, and her name's Astoria. Astoria Greengrass—"

I stab my fork into my toast, cringing at the clink of the silverware. _Greengrass_. I remember someone from school who had that name, and I can vaguely recall her being distasteful. Then again, all the Slytherin girls were either that or worse, Pansy Parkinson being the worst of the lot, much as I love her as a friend now. But I've had my share of those sodding girls my whole adolescence, and it seemed only right to draw the line at my twenties.

Victoria, or whoever this girl was, was definitely not going to meet _me. _From the sound of her name, she already seems like a lot of work."I don't think so, Mother."

"Oh, but darling, you haven't said yes to _any _of the prospects I've been mentioning to you!"

"I think I'd rather handle my love life—"

"A _lack _of one, more like."

I sneer at her and she sneers back.

She always did think that my lack of a partner drove a bitter nail through my heart. Which, unfortunately for her, it didn't. Ha ha. Thank you, Mother. I'm a bloody handsome man, and just by the turn of my charm, _millions _would fall in love with my perfection. Only I didn't, because that would disturb the general quiet, and love? I didn't think much of it.

"—yes, well, I think I'll handle that myself. Thank you for the concern, though, and when I do meet someone, I'll make sure to tell you."

"And when _will_ you, darling? When I'm dead? I'd like to be alive to see my first grandchild, Draco."

I grin at that. She always did like children, which was kind of an irony, because I was an only child.

But it's never easy to just _pick _anyone, is it?

"What do you want me to do? Pick out the first girl that I bump into in the next ten minutes and fall in love?"

Because if it were just that easy, then I and the rest of humankind would breathe more easily. And if it _were _that easy, then, I don't know - Cupid really _must _exist then. Only sodding gits, after all, would believe in something irrational as love at first sight.

My mother stares at me, gray eyes contemplating something, as if she's figuring me out. And then she goes, "So you really _are _waiting, then? For the right one?"

I have to admit that her question flusters me. It sounds like a whole lot of bollocks, but it's sort of, _kind of, _a little bit true. It was, in a way that makes me almost puke at all this sappy business, true love or nothing. I've always had the best of things while growing up. I'm spoiled like that; I would never _just settle._

Although now that her question resounds in my head, the thought of true love in this age sounds bloody stupid. It sounded easier to resurrect Lord Voldemort than to find the right one and all. And to date, it wasn't much at the top of my priorities. Love? It could wait, or it could never happen at all. Far be it from me to proclaim that _I _of all people would want it, when I already have so many other things to deal with. I could live the rest of my life as a bachelor. I'm a selfish bastard anyway, and I didn't mind having more money for myself.

So I don't give her an answer.

I simply give her a grin and finish off my coffee. When I do, I wipe at my mouth, stand up and give my mother a peck on the cheek. "See you soon, Mum."

As I walk away from our table, she doesn't forget to remind me of the Greengrass girl. I give her a nonchalant wave, taking a mental note to take her mind off my heart and on to shoes or something.

It takes two minutes to pay the tab by the counter, another minute to grab my cloak and put it on. When I walk to the door, searching my pockets for my wand, I don't realize someone's come in, walking the opposite direction, towards me. It takes a few seconds for me to find my wand, but when I do, we've already crashed against each other—I take a step back, and the other person does too, and I'm ready to call that person a bloody idiot and say a bit or two about watching where you're going, when I properly get a look at the person I've bumped into.

And my heart almost stops.

It takes a minute for me to take in the wild, brown hair and the bright brown eyes. Her scarf is strangely a familiar shade of red, and there is something about the way her eyes light up that sends a little shudder through me.

And then there is something that _feels _like regret and a whole lot of blood rushes to the head, and I'm wondering what it _was _that I _missed_ all those years, and before I know it—

"Granger?" I blurt out, quite aware of the surprise that drips from my voice.

She blinks, confusion written all over her face as she tries, in the next few seconds, to place who I am. It doesn't take long, because slowly, cautiously, she opens her mouth and says, "Malfoy?"

And there is something about the way she says _Malfoy _that just _gets _to me. In a surprisingly warm, good way that, in two seconds, I realize I like.

And then I remember ten minutes and Cupid and a girl and idiots falling in love.

Because in that little moment, everything begins.

**&&&**

**A/N: **Was that all right? Oh, I did enjoy writing the last few bits of this part.


	2. Part II

A/N: Part two. XD Yes, quite fast. Expect the third and final part sometime before Friday. Yay!

**&&&**

**PART II – it's gonna be a beautiful day, so do the bluebirds sing; as I take your hand, and you take my kiss, and I take the world.**

_Surprises. There are the bad ones, like when you think you aced an exam, but actually didn't and failed, or when you finally just got home and find out Father just died. Or like when you think a relationship's going so well, but your partner suddenly breaks up with you. Like when you pull out your purse and realize there's no money in it. _

_Then there are the good ones, like when you think your friends forgot your birthday, but when you get to the Common Room, the whole House is there to surprise you. Or when you encounter a new Chocolate Frog card you don't have yet in your collection. Or when someone buys you something you've been wanting for so long. Or when everyone suddenly forgets who you are and what you've done and you're just suddenly another face in the crowd._

_But how about when you fall in love? Or realize someone you _thought_ you hated turned out to be one of the best people you ever got to meet and you hated that sort of complication? Good surprise? Bad surprise? _

_Either way, I kind of like surprises._

**i. the magical position**

Six months.

"I do."

Six months, and here we were.

"You may now kiss the bride."

Everyone cheers and the organ starts to play, and finally, _finally_ – there it is, the _magic _position, where boy kisses girl and everyone is happy.

And so he does. Lift the veil. Smile. Kiss. Pull away. Smile. Then turn to the crowd for all to see the sheer _joy _on their faces.

I _hate _it. For some inexplicable reason, for some _innate _belief—or rather, disbelief—and for, for what? Envy? No, I didn't want all of this. It didn't suit me. It just didn't _become _me.

Astoria tugs at my sleeve. I give her a nasty look. Merlin, I _hate _her. I really didn't know _how _my mother got me to bring her as my date to Theo's wedding. From what I recall, though, it involved Bat-Bogey and Impedimenta and my mother's apt skills in hexes.

"_What_?" I hiss, because she's pulling much harder this time, and if we weren't in a bloody wedding ceremony, I would have already shoved her off. Rudely. "If you don't _mind, _Greengrass, I'm watching my bloody _friend _get married and if you didn't know, this only happens once in a lifetime!"

I really didn't understand how my mother thought she'd be perfect for me. So alright, she was pretty enough. She had the blood (which, frankly speaking, didn't do much to heighten my attraction for her, which was, you know, really _weird, _because once upon a time, I cared about it to the point of obsession and inhumanity). She had the money, too. She already _liked _me (but then again, who wouldn't?) and if I were sixteen, then _possibly, maybe, _I would have revelled in her attention.

But I was twenty-three, not a bloody teenager with raging hormones! And in all honesty, I didn't understand it myself, my not liking her when she was practically _made _for me.

But there you had it; I _didn't. _Go figure.

So while she replies and tells me why she's been tugging on my sleeve for the last ten minutes, I shut her off and concentrate on Theo and his bride. He looks _far _happier than he did in his picture, and I'm starting to wonder if he really was just having a bad day the time it was taken, or he just wasn't so photogenic. Either way, there's no doubt that he—_they_'re happy getting married. The expressions on their faces read nothing like dread of what they're about to go through.

But marriage is sort of like fog, isn't it? You never know what'll happen and the only good thing is you're not alone in the dark. Theo looks like all his problems are solved, like Brocklehurst's the epitome of what his happiness and salvation are based on. I don't know if I'll get that.

_Will _I get that, ever?

"Don't you want that, Draco?" Astoria chimes dreamily; she's staring at the chiffon dress Brocklehurst has on. Her blue eyes turn toward me, giddy and hopeful.

I turn to look back at the bride and groom, where they're standing in front of everyone, making out again and not caring whether or not the rest of us are already disgusted. But there it is, painfully obvious.

Love. Love.

The magic position.

"Don't you, Draco?"

The thought of it all is terribly appealing and horrifyingly ominous. Yes, in a sense, no in another, and offhandedly, what _am_ I supposed to answer?

So I keep my mouth shut.

Merlin, this would've all been easier if I'd been born a girl.

**ii. out of all the people I've known – **

"I'm in love."

It's the first thing Blaise says when he closes the door to my office and approaches my desk. I don't even look at him, because I'm too busy skimming through the front page of the _Prophet, _and I'm pretty sure he's joking.

…Because if anyone liked to play around, it was Blaise.

So I go, "Sure you are." And then I flip to page two.

"No, really. Draco, I'm _in love._"

And he stresses those last two words, as if he really means them, which I still know he doesn't. Blaise has had about twenty girlfriends since he was thirteen, and _none _of them managed to actually win him over. How, I wonder, could this time be any different?

While I begin to read the article on the Gringotts goblin strike, I half-heartedly indulge him, because I'm in a good mood and it isn't eight yet. "Alright, Blaise. With whom?"

And then there's silence.

He doesn't reply right away, as if it's against his will to say it, biting his tongue from uttering the name of this _special _girl. It hangs in the air, that. And I'm still reading about Hoggledygook leading the said goblin strike, when he says, in an uncharacteristically strained voice—

"Luna Lovegood."

I almost spit out the coffee from my mouth when I hear it. "_What?_ That Loony Lovegood from Ravenclaw?"

He nods, sinking in embarrassment into the seat in front of me. He's covering his face with his hands, but it doesn't work – I can see him _blushing. _Blushing! Blaise Zabini, _blushing, _because of that loony girl we went to school with! That girl who had bottle caps for a necklace and carrot tops for earrings and talked about bloody nonexistent creatures. The only good thing about her was that she was blonde, but that aside, she was strange.

And Blaise _didn't _like _strange. _Never did.

"Why did—_how _did this—this—_realization _come about?"

In his slumped, lovelorn state, he begins to explain his predicament.

"You know that her family runs that crazy magazine—the _Quibbler? _Well, they had this issue on our family estate in Hertfordshire, and how it's apparently breeding ground for what she calls nargles—don't bloody know what those are—so she contacted me three months ago for permission to go around the estate and I obliged, and I supplied her with the information that she needed for her article.

"She came back for a whole month to get everything she needed, and I don't even know _why _I was letting her, why I was being so _bloody _nice about it, _why _I accompanied her every time she was there, and you know how these things go – then we got to talking about other things besides nargles and whatnot, and I grew comfortable around her and we got to know each other and –"

The whole time, I'm staring at my friend, beyond disbelief. And for the life of me, I'd never seen him so unsure and so nervous and so bloody _smitten _with someone else besides himself. I never thought it was possible. Usually, girls were smitten over _him. _

"—and then today I woke up, and it just _came _to me." He spaces out and even dramatically whispers, "It just _came _to me, Draco. I _love _her."

He turns to look at me, looking oh-so-young-and-in-love and positively hating it.

"For Merlin's sake, don't look at me," I say, "Your _eyes _are bloody sparkling, Zabini!"

"This is awful, awful, _awful,_" he groans, "_Why _did this happen? _Why?_"

"I thought you were still with that girl – the one with the red hair?"

He peeks from his hands and mumbles, "I broke things off with Sabrina two months ago. Since—since—"

He doesn't even need to say it.

So instead, I laugh and clap my hand on his back. "You're an idiot."

"Shut up."

"How does it feel?"

"Horrible. And… and… _fluttery._"

"When are you planning to tell her?"

"Who said anything about _telling _her?" He crosses his arms. "This little truth isn't _ever _coming out."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm hoping it'll blow over in a few months' time," he replies, his tone firm, as if he's assuring himself that if it didn't, he would make it happen for sure. "I mean, she isn't even my type! You know how I like my girls to be gorgeous, and she isn't even _close _to any of them—Merlin, she's _beautiful _in her own little way, but that's beside the point—and she's weird, Draco! _Weird! _I don't _like _weird, but I don't get why I _love _her, and she's practically the looniest person I've ever met!"

When he goes on his rant, he sounds almost desperate to clear himself of his feelings. It's funny, really, seeing him so worked up and so _against _liking a girl. And so I wonder, could this be it for him? Because if it were, love really did work miracles – if it could happen to a guy like Blaise, it could happen to anyone.

"What do you think, Draco?"

I raise an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Don't you have any advice or something? Since we're practically in the same boat—"

"What boat?"

He looks at me as if it's painfully obvious; I ignore him as I drink my coffee. "Well, I have Luna and you have Granger—"

I choke on my coffee and my heart starts to palpitate and I'm _sure _it isn't from the caffeine. There's suddenly a sharp image of the witch in my head, of her pretty brown eyes and her impossible hair. And somewhere, somewhere, I feel like a poof with tingles.

I remember that day in the café, her bloody red scarf and her ugly coat, and the sudden burst of air that escaped my lungs when I realized who she was.

_Malfoy? _She said in this tone I can't seem to forget, because it sounded nice, coming from this girl who was _supposed_ to _hate _me. It didn't make sense, the two of us standing there like idiots, gaping at each other and not really doing anything else. But it kind of did, if you get what I mean, which I'm suspecting you don't.

There we were, enemies by association, and the next thing she said was, _How are you? _

And really, who says that to someone you blatantly, _supposedly _despised? And really, which self-respecting _enemy _replies with a safe, quiet _I'm fine_?

Apparently, we did, because we were idiots like that. Three days after that incident, we were having coffee. And the rest is history.

And now…now…

_Granger. _

There it goes again, as I wipe my mouth and set down my cup to reply, "It isn't the same thing, Blaise."

It's his turn to snicker, and I'm almost tempted to throw him out of my office, because I know what he's getting at. We've had snippets of conversation about this before, and it never really ended prettily; he always had the last word in, and that really, really pissed me off.

"Sure, it is, Draco."

"No, it isn't."

"Yes, it is – pray tell, why are you turning red?"

"No. It. Isn't." And I rub at my face. "And I'm _not _turning red."

"But I thought you were dating her!"

"Well, I'm not."

"But you spend so much _time _with her."

"Yeah, that's what you call _friendship._, Blaise."

"You like her, don't you?"

What _are _we, twelve? If we were still kids, I would've already kicked him. Thrice.

"I _don't._"

"But you do!"

"Like I said, I _don't._"

"_Right, _and the Dark Lord had a fetish for kittens," he snorts. "Oh, come off it, mate, who's the idiot now? You haven't seen anyone else of the opposite sex besides—besides your mother and Hermione Granger! And oh, wait – how could I forget?" He puts on a fake thoughtful expression and then says, "Your aging secretary Agatha—what _is_ that about, by the way?"

"Friends, Zabini. That's what we are. And Agatha's mighty efficient, in spite of her age." I attempt to get back to my newspaper, but fail, because Blaise wrenches it out of my hands and gives me a challenging look.

"Oh, and here I thought you fancied her, seeing as how your eyes always _positively _light up at the mere mention of her name—"

"Look who's talking, you bloody git, and—and—" I smack him on the head. "This isn't even about me!"

"Might as well be, seeing as I'm not the only fool in this room."

I stifle a groan and refuse the urge to hex him. "Keep saying stupid things, Blaise, and I won't hesitate calling your Loony and letting some secrets _slip._"

Thankfully, that shuts him up, and I smirk. He knows I _would, _and I grab my paper back and turn to page four.

It's already eight seventeen and I'm still not working and my mind is already muddled with inconsequential things like… like hexing Blaise, Granger and our Thursday lunches. Today is Thursday, see, and suddenly, I want, so badly, to rush through the morning to finally see _her_. And that's weird, because I see her every week, and it's only been half a year that we've started this little tradition. Old me would tire of it and hate her again, but this new me—Merlin, well, New me has never made any sense to me in the first place. And now I blame the bloody prat sitting in my office for the internal confusion he's just caused me right now.

Three minutes later, said prat is still on about his love, his stupid expression gone, only to be replaced by this serious face.

"A Time Turner won't be able to undo the damage, will it?"

This time, I blink.

"A Memory Charm would," I answer slowly. "Would you like me to do it as a favour for you?"

It takes him a pretty long two minutes to say no, and I'm actually surprised he was considering it for real. It's another minute that he says goodbye, and when I look up, the door's already snapped shut and I'm alone again.

And somehow, I understand.

Memory charms can only go so far, and his heart (oh, bless his bloody stupid heart) would never be able to forget.

Love. _Love_. What a headache.

**iii. so let the people talk**

There they go again.

You'd think I'm some sort of bloody celebrity by the way fifty percent of the people I pass _stare _at my awesomeness. 'Course, that's not the reason they look, but well, you know, might as well revel in the attention while I'm at it, even if said attention is unwanted and is thoroughly disconcerting.

…Because the way they look at me is the way I used to look at Longbottom. And even if I hadn't done anything especially wrong and evil in the last few years, they still manage to make me feel like dirt. This whole business is rather unfair, but I suppose it's karma working against me.

As another old wizard passes by me with a scrutinizing, suspicious glance, I suddenly feel like Owling Longbottom and saying sorry.

Five minutes later, I find myself seated outside an office, glaring right back at the receptionist who's done nothing but either gawk at me or chew her gum too noisily that I'm pretty sure the whole floor can hear her teeth squishing against each other.

It's eleven fifty-six, and I'm all set for lunch.

I begin to think where we could go; Diagon Alley, maybe? I'd seen some new bistro opened last week beside old Florean's, and they were serving pasta, and _she_ likes pasta, that much I know… Or perhaps she'd want something more traditional? She recently had a fixation on shepherd's pie…

I don't know how long I've been staring in space, thinking about food, but it's a while before someone calls me.

"Draco?"

My head snaps up and my stomach turns just a bit at the sound of my name.

And for the first time since this morning, I find myself delighted. _Delighted. _It's disconcerting, to say the least, that this is what I usually feel when I see _her. _And it's really nice, you know, to see someone actually happy that I'm here, when, the moment I arrived, everyone had looked so nastily at me. For a moment, the poof with the tingles is back, and I can't seem to shake him off.

"Hi."

"What are you doing here?"

She looks so pretty. I don't think I've ever described her like that, except that time when I was fourteen and she was in blue dress robes and she was all made up for the Yule Ball. Given, she's in dull work robes right now, her hair's tied in a messy bun, and she looks tired, but, well – she always did have a pretty smile, much as my teenager self begs to disagree. And I found out months back that I like it when she does it towards _me_. It's got the strangest effect, and I, of all people, can't help but smile back.

"I came to get you for lunch."

And just for the record, I _never _do that.

She knows how being in the Ministry makes me feel, so today is a surprise, and her eyes get bright and happy, and there it goes again, this—this _weird _feeling that reminds me of what Blaise said.

_Fluttery. _

And then I remind myself to strangle the git later for all these weird thoughts.

So, anyway, she's still smiling and I basically don't know what to do now, what with all this light-headedness I suddenly feel. So, instead, I push my hands into my pockets and nod towards the door. "Shall we?"

And off we go.

The annoying, chewing receptionist has her mouth hung open when she sees me with _her, _the other blokes in the hallway stare at me when I'm keeping close beside _her, _and for all the world, I choose to look down at my shoes while we brush past all of them. I couldn't wait to get out, but the world wasn't cooperating right now and the Ministry was just so _big, _it seemed like _ages _for us to see the exit doors_._

It's all so suffocating, this. I'm a man of ego, too sure of himself at the worst of times, but right now, right now, I feel so small and useless and pathetic, and, _and_—

A hand takes my wrist and holds on. I stare at it.

Sixty-seven steps.

It's hers. Of course it's hers. It's caught me by surprise.

I look up, and she looks at me, and then there it goes again, the strangest internal chaos that's been happening too often today, where I feel warm and uncomfortable, but in that really, really nice way that only she can stir within me.

I don't even know how our relationship got to this. She knows me almost all too well, and I'm thankful that everything that's happened hasn't fazed her. Not one bit.

And I don't even need to say it: I reach for her fingers, and she understands. She understands me perfectly, and she smiles.

**&&&**

We're seated by the window in a deli, somewhere in Muggle London. We've magicked our work robes away for the hour, so now we sort of blend in comfortably with the lot. I've always found that curiously intriguing. _Me, _Draco Malfoy, _comfortable _among Muggles. This hasn't been the first time I've gone out to _this _world, but every time that I'm in it, it's pretty much solace. No one knows who I am here, and I find that thought immensely relieving.

"Ron's getting married, have I told you?"

"Oh?" It's mighty surprising some girl actually managed to like the Weasel idiot. Then again, one of the girls who fell for Weasel's charms is sitting right in front of me, and I almost grin. "Feeling a bit sad?"

She sticks out her tongue and chuckles. "_No. _I was in love with him when I was eighteen, but I'm older now, and _know _a few more things—" at that I chuckle – "and now, he's just one of my best friends. You know that."

Yes, I did know that, and that makes me breathe easier. Odd.

"So who's the future Mrs. Weasel?"

"Lavender Brown. You remember her, don't you?"

"Ah, the girl who had her mouth permanently stuck on him the whole sixth year." I shudder. "Yes, I remember all that display of affection."

She laughs. "And to think _you _noticed that, when you were supposedly on your Death Eater mission."

"Hard to miss, considering that they didn't do anything else much when they were together. And was that canary rumour true?"

The pretty blush that crosses her features is enough of an answer. I chuckle and clap my hands. "Well done, Granger. Well done. Never thought you had it in you."

"I'm full of surprises, aren't I?"

Yes, she is. And I like it. Everything, I mean.

As the hour passes by, I tell her about Theo's wedding, horrendous Astoria, and Mother's hopes of matching me with her.

"Ah, but the wedding. How was _it_?" She asks. "Has it changed your oh-I'm-destined-to-be-a-bachelor-my-whole-life belief? Want to get married now, or are you still on about your growing old alone?"

She knows about that, my little daydreams. She knows all about my little faith in love being meant for people like me, and she being the good girl that she is, always makes it a point to convince me otherwise. Her argument? Life had not made me so good-looking and bloody rich to be destined for celibacy.

"Let's see, shall we?" I keep it at that, and together, we share a blessed silence as we both bite from our sandwiches.

Then, "Would you like to come with me, by the way?"

"To the wedding?"

She nods. And for some reason, I'm starting to imagine another blush that's slowly creeping to her cheeks, even though, I'm sure it's just because of the light. And was that just my sandwich twisting in my stomach, or something else altogether?

"It's perfectly alright if you'd rather not, since I know you don't like Ron, and most probably everyone else who'll be there, and I don't want you uncomfortable or anything, and –"

And now she's blabbering. Her hands are gesturing all over the place, and she looks almost apologetic for having asked me such a thing. Given, everything she's saying is true; if being in the Ministry was bad enough as it was, this wedding ceremony would just be ten times more horrible.

I'm all set to say no, but curiously enough, it isn't what my mouth says. "Yes."

"What?"

_No. _"I'll go."

I want to smack myself. That isn't what I meant to say. I meant to say no, because I'd rather not see people I know, most 'specially the people who _hate _me, and I hate weddings and I hate thinking about things like this, but oh, Merlin, I like her more than all those things. Hell, irrational as I am right now, I'm more willing to go anywhere _with her, _even to the depths of—of Potter's underwear drawer_. _

And see, that's strange. So many strange things keep happening today, and I feel sick, but at the same time, as fine as daylight. There's a rush of adrenaline, and then it goes away. And she gives me this dazzling smile I know she didn't _mean _to give as _dazzlingly _as she did, but there it goes again, the whole weird _chaos _that always happens in my insides whenever I'm with her. Like an odd, tickling sensation I've _never _felt before in my life.

And for the life of me, in that insane little moment, I feel like marching up to the Ministry and attending even Potter's wedding, and not caring at all. Not one bit, if it meant that I'd be making her happy like this.

**iv. walk right past this fabulous mess we're in**

Death days. I hated them. Particularly the one of my Father's.

Today, we wear black, Mum and me, just to remind ourselves that Father's missed. Every year since his passing, Mother always cries the most on this day, brings out the photograph taken of the two of them when they got engaged, and drinks a bit of champagne to ease the pain. They loved each other, see, and I loved them and they loved me.

But Merlin, Mum's always a wreck on this day. I hate seeing her cry, and I'm certain Father does too, and in my head I'm thinking, _See? This is what love does._

The weird thing is, Mother never makes it a point to visit his grave on this day – she _hates _seeing his tombstone, as if it reminds her of the truth that he's really dead. Gone from the world, gone from our lives, gone from beside her every morning that she wakes.

So while she cries, I'm the one who brings the flowers to his grave. It's always been a solitary trip for me, even during the time we were abroad and I came back for half a day to England to visit him in every year that we were away. And all I do there is place down the flowers and talk a bit with him, when I'm really just talking to the stone. We talk about a lot of things; I tell him about our life, about my job, about Mum's obsession with marriage and me, about the things we've seen.

And then I tell him Mum misses him, how I'm sure he knows that because he's pretty much still there in her heart, no matter how many deaths he dies. And he never answers. Not that I expect him to, but sometimes, I wish he would. Just to be sure that he hears me and will be able to tell me that everything'll be okay, because I'm his son.

Today, I bring lilies.

I bask in the autumn sun and the glorious silence that cemeteries always possess. I look down upon the tombstone, and as always, I say, "Hey, Dad."

And as always, there isn't a reply. The familiar sting of his death lingers in my chest, but I'm used to it; this day brings back a lot of sadness, and I miss him, miss him more than I do on other days.

"Mum's got this idea in her head that I'll be marrying this—this Astoria Greengrass girl sometime in the future. I flat out said no, of course." I seat myself comfortably on the grass, in front of his stone, placing the lilies upon it as I continue my story. "I think you would've liked her, too, Dad, as much as Mum does. She's of—of pedigree, and I have to admit she's pretty, and practically perfect for me, but then… but then—"

There's this girl. Dreadful hair and incredible smile. Knows too much about everything and just _gets _me.

_There's this girl._ Oh, hell, I really don't know.

There's the slightest breeze that passes over me, rustling the leaves of the maple tree in the distance, and I _know _he's here, somewhere. Listening to his fool of a son who wanted nothing more than for things to be okay and for the world to just back off. Listening to the little boy who just didn't know what to do and what he truly wanted.

"I miss you, Dad."

And the breeze blows again.

**&&&**

It's one month later that, in the blink of an eye, I understand things. Everything.

We've just come back from her mother's birthday party. It's eleven p.m. and we're seated on her porch, drinking coffee and basically talking about random things.

"You know, five years earlier, I would never have thought that I'd bring _you _to my mother's birthday," she laughs. "Ten years earlier, I would _never _believe that we'd actually be like this."

I grin. "Me, too."

"Strange how things work out, huh?"

"Indeed." I stare at her as she stares up at the sky, and all around us, there's only silence. I remember a quote about silence and comfort, and about how simple some things really are. "Your parents are nice. For Muggles, I mean."

She giggles. "They like you too, you know. They don't think you're as horrible as I said you were."

"You think I'm horrible?"

She looks at me as if it's obvious. "You have to admit you were the most atrocious little brat when we were twelve. And when we were thirteen. And fourteen. And fifteen. And—"

"Yes, yes, I get your point."

"But you're alright now…"

I smile. "We're different now."

"Are we?"

"Yeah…"

She turns to look up at the sky. "About that Greengrass girl you're seeing…"

"What about her?"

"Nothing… Just that, it's nice, you know. In a completely different perspective, it's comforting to know that, in the end, you'll have someone. Someone who's willing to have you."

"I'd rather be alone than end up with her, thanks."

"You're not supposed to end up alone, Draco. Not _you, _of all people."

"It could happen. I don't mind."

"Life could surprise you, you know. It could happen when you least expect it. It could happen tomorrow, or next week, or sometime in the next month…"

And then while she continues talking, something clicks. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, something lights up, like a forgotten candle while I'm staring at her. Like I'd forgotten it was there, and I'd found it again, somehow.

When she turns to look at me, there's curiosity on her face. "…What?"

And then I see it_._

Is this what Blaise was talking about?

Because suddenly…suddenly, it just _comes _to me, like an answer to a murky question I've been asking for so long, like a gasp for breath after being kept underwater.

I remember everything from the moment I bumped into her, to my visit to Father, to what she just said seconds ago. It could happen any time. It could happen right now.

"…Nothing."

It's simple, really. I don't know how I could've missed it.

My heart's hammering faintly in my chest.

Now what did I not tell Dad?

There's this girl, see. With hopeless hair and a brilliant smile, who knows a lot of things and understands me. There's this girl who makes my insides go crazy and makes me feel stupid in the good way. There's this girl who's talking about love and wants me to get married. There's this girl I thought I hated as a boy, but is tremendously incredible and so bloody nice and is always _just there _on Thursdays. There's this girl who doesn't think like everyone else and _sees _me. With bright, pretty eyes and soft hands I'm hoping I'll get to hold for as long as I can.

She's sitting beside me and everything is silent.

_There's this girl, see..._

And I love her.


	3. Part III

Title: The Magic Position  
Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe. All that rightfully belongs to JK Rowling. And Magic Position belongs to Patrick Wolf. The lyrics in bold do not belong to me. :)  
Warnings: Language, then?  
Summary: A lot of things can change when you meet the right person.

Author's Notes: Wooo! Last installment of this three-part one-shot. I do hope you enjoyed reading this and got some holiday cheer with all the fluff that I specially packaged into this story. Thank you to all those who took the time to review this; I'm very happy that you stuck around 'til part three. Merry Christmas to you all, and a happy new year!

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**PART III - you put me in the magic position to live, to learn, to love in the major key.**

_Funny._

_Apparently, it's so easy to realize life-changing things. _

_Like when everything changes in a blink of an eye, and suddenly what you thought you wanted is completely different from what you want _now. _Like in a minute, your vision of tomorrow drastically changes from being a solitary thing, to a Christmas day where there are children and grandchildren, and a wife, somewhere, beside you. Like in the span of a second, you could be a hero. Or one minute you're crying, and in another, you decide you've had it, and want life to be better._

_Sometimes, all you need is a really short while to think of important stuff like that and make a choice. It's simple, actually: the way you say you like chocolate over vanilla the instant you taste both, the way happiness is really only a matter of choice, and you only need to decide whether the day you've just had is a bad or a good one._

_One day, I looked at her. _

_And I realized I wanted to be happy._

**v. this Monday morning**

It's as if I'd been blinded this whole time, and someone had been kind enough to loose me of a blindfold I didn't know I had. Like seeing someone in a new light, and shying away from that light, because you don't think you're meant for it.

Over half a year ago, I was almost so sure that I didn't _want _to get married. To fall in love. To put myself in the business of searching for someone I wanted to spend the rest of my bloody life with, when I had a choice of making it easy for myself and simply choosing to do with a bachelor life. I was fine with the whole bleak, lonesome future idea and was preparing for it, when all of a sudden, the fates played a trick on me and had me bump into the most incredible person I now know I can't live without.

It's a cruel, cruel thing. _See? This is what love does. _

She's a wanted fixture in my life, and could potentially make everything so bloody effing sweeter. It would make my Mum happy and it would make _me _bloody euphoric for the rest of my days, that much I know.

And now, now…

"Draco, go get Astoria a glass of punch; she looks positively dehydrated!"

Oh, bloody hell. I look at my mother and throw her a glare; 'course, she's not intimidated at the least, because, you know, I inherited that glare from her.

Instead, she's annoyed. "Stop making faces and be a gentleman to your date, Draco."

Astoria's somewhere, a few feet away, gossiping with a bunch of her old classmates. Like I said before, from an objective point of view, she stands out; a beauty, no doubt, and I reckon every bloke my age in this luncheon's drooling over her. She's dressed in expensive robes, and looks bloody great in it. See, I even notice that old man by the buffet table eyeing her greedily the way he's digging through the chocolate cake on his plate.

When I finally do get a glass of punch to her, she turns to me, blue eyes wide and just bloody sparkling the whole time, and says, "Oh, thank you, Draco, you didn't have to."

She places her hand upon my arm, and I can't help but move away. "I did; my mother told me to."

And the words that escape my mouth sort of annoys me. I was too obedient sometimes. If I were as rebellious as I would have liked to think, I would've already Disapparated away from this gathering and Apparated to—to wherever she was.

_Hermione. _

_Her_. At the thought of her, my insides get warm and I curl my lip and frown.

It's a Sunday today and I know she's probably eating out with her parents, like she usually does. It's February, and perhaps she has her favorite red scarf, with that hideous hat Weasley gave her for Christmas. They're seated in their favorite restaurant as a family – she'd taken me there once on one of our Thursday meetings – and she's ordered the usual meal she swears is the best in all London. They're probably laughing about a relative getting married to the most unexpected person, or she's telling her father to go have his back checked for arthritis.

Yes, I knew those details. I knew them all, and I _hate _it. I'm in love with her, and I'm _here, _in a bloody luncheon, with the wrong person as my _date. _When did life begin to be so complicated?

I turn on my heel and begin to walk away.

"Where are you going?" Astoria asks.

"Somewhere. I'm going for a walk."

The estate is nothing like what we have at Wiltshire; it's bigger, for one thing, and has the potential to make one lost forever, if someone didn't know his way around. In only a few minutes, the noise from the luncheon is but a buzz in my ear, and I can hear the waters lapping on the shores of a lake nearby. Sometime later, I find a rock to sit down on, stare at the expanse of the scenery, and just wait.

I'm waiting for the world to be quiet. That's the way it was, see, when _it _happened. And I reckon it's the same with everyone else. When they say that someone falls in love, the fireworks don't happen. There aren't mind-boggling explosions, or intense palpitations of the heart that you think you're going to die in the next few seconds. There isn't the rush of adrenaline, or the oh-bloody-hell-I-_feel_-it-happening-and-Merlin-this-is-_exciting-_I'm-dead sort of feeling.

See, all those things happen _after _you're aware of it just having happened.

Because what _actually _occurs is this: when someone falls in love, it happens really quietly. In the blink of an eye. Like a faint snap of your fingers. Like stirring awake after you've dozed off accidentally and see the light filtering through your eyelashes. It's like you're sandwiched between two worlds, where you're alone in one half, but you're perfectly able to see the other half, where she lives, and you're able to scrutinize where you are and where she is and everything in between. And it's quiet. Everything's quiet and so bloody beautiful and sad.

And now I'm waxing poetic about the mysterious workings of the heart. And that's a sufficient sign that tells me I'm in _more _than enough trouble as it is. It's crazy.

"_There _you are."

I turn to see Astoria walking towards me, lifting her robes above her ankles to avoid having them dirtied by the ground. "Your mother wants you to accompany me to Diagon Alley after this."

"What _for_?" Right now, my mother's not my favorite person at all. "I've already _come _to this luncheon with _you _as my date; now she wants me chained to you for the rest of the day, too?"

She looks indignant. "You could have been more polite and just said _no, _you know."

"Being polite doesn't get me what I want, Greengrass."

"Several wizards would _love _to be in your shoes, Draco," she says, "You're absolutely fortunate that I like you."

"Thanks for that then, but I'll tell you again: I'm not interested."

She sniffs, and tosses her hair behind her shoulders as if to ignore what I've just said. Funny; it reminds me of her older sister who used to do that in school. And every time that she did, I always had this slight desire to burn her hair right off. Right now, I feel the same way. "In any case, we'll be leaving just as soon as Uncle Rolf makes his little speech. I'll meet you by the fireplace in the receiving room then."

**&&&**

An hour and a half later, I'm trailing behind Astoria as she walks ahead like a giddy girl who'd just received her allowance for the week.

Shopping.

That's what we're doing. We're _shopping._ I'm here against my will and I'm made to carry just about everything she's bought in the last half hour or so. The new robes from Madam Malkin's, the latest issue of _Witch Weekly, _the "cute little posh" bag from that French shop some stores back, and so many more. Now she's spotted Florean's ice cream store and signals to me with her gloves.

"I'm buying ice cream for the two of us. Wait here."

As she disappears into the shop, I somehow feel like I'm being treated like a house elf. No, worse; I feel like her pet dog on a leash being tied to a post while she does her errands. I have a nagging desire to drop everything I'm holding and escape, but I can't. Mother'll find out and probably hex me again. And you know how especially… _skilled _she is with hexes.

I heave an annoyed sigh.

One minute, two… I seriously consider Disapparating.

Three minutes, four… There's a bloody kid who shoves me somewhere round my ankles and I almost topple to the ground.

Five minutes in, I'm getting terribly annoyed by the hustle and bustle of everyone who's going past me.

It's six minutes in when I see _her_. My gaze happens to cross over where she is, and in a second, I swear that everything just _stops. _

_She's there._ Among the crowd, sticking like a sore thumb in that hideous hat and slightly large coat. Rummaging through her bag, she pulls out a list of sorts, then runs her finger down through the items, concentrated, as if it's of utmost importance to know what it is she needs to buy.

I haven't seen her since that time—our Thursday lunches had to be delayed because I'd gone out of the country for a week on a business trip, and she'd been busy with research for two—and right now, it's like I've been dowsed with water. Hot water.

It's a strange thing when you stare at someone and suddenly that someone looks back at you just in time to catch you staring. You've no seconds to spare to whip your head away and pretend that you haven't been looking at all. As if she felt my gaze burning through her head, her brown eyes shift up, towards me, and I'm frozen. _Frozen_.

She's walking towards me now, February breeze blowing slightly through her hair, her cheeks a bit pink from the biting cold. For a moment, her eyes travel to the signage of Florean's and then back at me. Her eyes are alight, and my insides are squirming in an awful mixture of discomfort and delight. And right now, I really _do _feel like Disapparating.

"You want ice cream in the middle of February?" is the first thing she says to me in this playful tone. "Really, Malfoy, you've grown a tad odder than the last time we saw each other."

I don't know what expression's on my face, because by now, I'm a bit out of it, really, as if I'm suddenly aware of _everything, _of the distance we're in, of this itch on my back, of my feelings seeming to want to burst forth and possess her.

In any case, though, she's smiling. And it reaches inside of me. She's glad to see me. She's _happy _to see me. And I remind myself I love her, and perhaps—perhaps she can feel that.

All of that precious little moment is broken, though, when the bell on the door of Florean's rings and out steps Astoria, holding two cups of ice cream, with a curious look on her face as she sees the two of us.

There's a dawn of recognition on Hermione's face when she understands the situation almost immediately. "Oh. _Oh. _I'm sorry; I didn't know you were with someone today." The pink on her cheeks get darker, and she absent-mindedly pats at her hair and gives a friendly smile to the two of us. She turns to Astoria, who's looking at her and then back at me with this unreadable look on her face. "You must be Astoria Greengrass. I'm—"

Astoria beats her to it. "Hermione Granger. Yes, I know who you are. The whole wizarding world knows _you, _of course."

I blink. I expected Astoria to be mean and a tad bit rude – because well, that's what she normally is – but the way she just said that has no sarcasm whatsoever. She says it like a fact, levelly, civilly. In a way, I'm mighty impressed.

Apparently, so is Hermione, but she recovers quickly. "Oh. Yes—" she smiles slightly – "How do you do? Er… let's see…"

And _there's _the awkward minute. I wondered how long it would come. Now it's here, and I _still _haven't said anything, Hermione's wringing the sleeves of her too-big coat the way she normally does when she's anxious, and Astoria—well, she's still wearing that bloody impenetrable look that I can't seem to read.

Then—

"Well, I think I'd better leave you two alone again and get to my own shopping. Yes. Shopping. Alright then. It was nice meeting you—" she shakes hands with Astoria – "and it was nice seeing you again, Draco."

I simply nod. It's a stiff nod, compared to the internal battle that's sort of happening within me. A part of me wants to scream my bloody head off and just come clean, in the alright-bloody-hell-I-love-you-already-now-you-know-I-hope-this-stops-my-agony way, and another part just wants to kill myself for looking like a right idiot just now.

She doesn't even look back. Somewhere in my chest I can't help but feel sad, because this is the first time I've seen her in almost a month and I haven't said _anything. _Anything at all to lighten my burden – indeed, _love _is the worst burden a man can ever have, and I'll warn any bloke of it when he attempts to have it - and just let her know that I'm happy, no, absolutely _overjoyed _at the sight of her, no matter how awkward it may feel now.

When she disappears once more in the bustling crowd, I turn to Astoria just in time to see a calculating look on her face.

She gives me my ice cream, looks me over and huffs, as if she just got something, like a solution to a complex Arithmancy problem which she isn't willing to share.

"What?"

Simply, she goes, "So it's her."

And for the life of me, I don't know where she's getting at.

Alright, I _do, _actually, but I'd rather die than admit anything to _her, _of all people.

I'm rather taken aback. No, _shocked, _actually_. _My eyes widen just a bit and I frown."What do you mean?"

"I get why you're mean to me."

"I'm mean to everyone." And that, I know, is an awfully poor defense. Still, though, there is a measure of truth in what I've just said. I'm a right prat to about thirty percent of the people I come across on a daily basis.

"Not to _her, _of all people." She scoops a bit of ice cream into her mouth and thoughtfully smacks her lips. "It didn't really take long to find out, you know? How absolutely _darling _of you_. _You _like _her!"

And here we go again. And now I'm beginning to ask myself: is it _really _that obvious? It was to Blaise, apparently, and that was, what, a few months back? And now, it's not him I'm talking to, but Astoria. _Astoria, _who'd seen me interact with Hermione Granger for barely five minutes and already successfully read me like a trashy romance novel_. _

She was actually perceptive (that, or I was hopelessly transparent as I wouldn't have liked to think), and somewhere in my mind, I've gained some level of respect for her.

"You're not even denying it," she continues.

"I haven't even _said _anything!"

"Exactly," she replies. We begin to walk forward, and I try to catch up with her through the crowd. "I don't understand why you just didn't tell me, or your mother, even, in the first place. Heaven knows she's been trying to match you with all the girls in our social circle. You could have saved both of _us _the time, Draco, and told her you fancied that Muggleborn witch."

"I told you, didn't I? That I wasn't interested."

She waves a hand carelessly. "Well, I thought you were playing hard-to-get or something, and I always appreciate a chase. It just got terribly unappealing when I saw that pathetic, lovesick look on your face when Granger was here."

I have the grace to blush, at which she starts to laugh.

"You're taking this awfully lightly for someone who seriously considered getting betrothed with me."

"Yes, well, there's always a long strip of suitors round the corner," she says lightly, "You just happened to be the better-looking one of the group."

"I'm _flattered._"

"You're interesting, Draco Malfoy. I think I'll keep you in mind. If you get rejected—" My heart stops a bit at that, because oh, dear bloody Merlin, I never really thought that far, did I? – "you know where to find me. Or not."

And she gives me this sultry smile that she thinks can change my mind, but of course, it doesn't work.

I smirk back. "Well, thanks, Greengrass. You're a lot smarter than I initially gave you credit for."

And for that, I receive a rightful kick on the shins.

**&&&**

When I get home, Mother is in her favorite sitting room, waiting, apparently, for me. The moment I close the door, she's up on her feet, ready to fire her questions about what transpired in the last few hours.

"Well? How was it?"

Absolutely splendid. Astoria's two house elves had come to take her shopping away from me, and she'd given me an air-kiss goodbye. A _final _goodbye. I would never have to take her around again, and I was glad of it.

That's exactly what I tell Mum. Naturally, she doesn't take it all too well. In fact, her mouth drops open in bewilderment, and I can see her fingers twitching—twitching somewhere near her belt, where she normally keeps her wand. Carefully, I place myself behind her favorite chair.

"You're not _serious, _are you, my son?" she growls. "You're joking, aren't you?"

"No, Mum, I'm not."

"So she just said goodbye then? Just like _that_?"

"Yes. It was a mutual agreement."

"A mutual agreement."

Right. I'm pretty sure she still doesn't believe me and is all for pinning this down to be my fault. And in a minute, she does _just _that, and more.

"_Why _can't you ever just cooperate, Draco? I've _tried, _I've _searched _high and low for the _perfect _match for you, and you're still about the most stubborn _boy _a mother can ever have who flat out _refuses _each and every one of those lovely girls! Why, Draco? Do you want to be a bachelor your whole life? Do you? I'm telling you, your Uncle Felix is one, and you _see _him and his strange fixation on stars, he's about to go _mad _and proclaim he's in love with a centaur! You don't want to end up like that, I'm sure, and _over my dead body is my son staying a bachelor and not giving me the grandchildren I deserve!"_

When she's done with that mini tirade, there's a blessed silence that comes over the room.

And ah, yes. I almost want to laugh. I momentarily forgot that a part of her driving force in getting me married was for her personal gain (that is to say, grandchildren. She _longed _to have them now).

"I told you, Mum, I'm not settling for just _anybody _you're going to throw at my direction."

"If I didn't, you wouldn't be looking at all!"

"These things take time, _Mother—_"

"You're not even giving _effort—_"

"You have to let me do this on my own." Because she has to get it into her head that _this_ is my choice, my own concern—not hers, not anybody's. It isn't the same as having someone cook you dinner, or letting a representative attend a business meeting. "Mother, I know what I want."

She looks almost defeated when she drops back to her favorite chair. I never really knew this sort of stress about getting me wed came down this hard upon her. Kneeling beside her, I take her hand, holding it tightly in mine. "Oh, darling, I just want you to be happy. I've only ever been nothing else but content with your father, and I only want the same thing for you."

"I know that," I reply. "I know that especially well."

"I was just trying to help, you know."

"I know that too."

"I love you too much, darling."

"I love you too, Mum."

"So even if I call on the Highburrows' daughter, you won't appreciate it?"

"No."

"Why ever not?" she sniffs. "Like I said, Draco, I'm only trying to help, and the only other plausible reason I can think of of why you'd ever say no is unless—unless—don't _tell_ me you actually—actually—"

By the way her gray eyes brighten, I _know _what she's implying. She doesn't even need to say it.

At the thought of _her, _I smile.

And then she understands.

And my mother, _oh_, my mother, grinning broadly like a winner, kisses me soundly on the forehead.

**vi. and I take the world**

It's been more than a year.

And here we are.

"You may kiss the bride."

And so he does. Lift the veil. Smile. Kiss. Pull away. Smile. Then turn to the crowd for all to see the sheer _joy _on their faces.

Well, no. _That _was the idea. But said _he _is apparently not pulling away and is, truthfully, about to suck the face of his bride entirely. Couple in question? Weasley, naturally, and his new Mrs. Weasley, who, by the glare of the lights, has her hair already turning red by the second.

The music starts to play, and oh, bloody Merlin, they're still at it.

Somewhere to my right, someone mutters, "I am about to meet my _lunch_ again."

And surprisingly, it's Potter who says that. I find myself suppressing a snort. Who knew we'd actually finally agree on something?

I turn to my left and see Hermione making a face. I swear, she looks bloody adorable. I've long accepted that with love comes great softness and mushiness and I've surrendered to all of it. If I thought she was being adorable, then so be it. I wasn't going to stop the poof with tingles who apparently enjoyed disturbing my inner peace.

"Jealous, Granger?"

"More like a bit disturbed, actually."

And I snicker. I can't be any happier, actually, because I'm beside her, and she thinks this whole display of affection by Weasley and his bride is revolting.

Life could probably be sweeter, true, but for now, I could have this. I could have this and be satisfied. So long as she's here.

&&&

It doesn't really surprise me when I see Blaise holding Luna's hand.

They've just arrived at the reception and everyone, of course, is staring. Because _it's Blaise. _And like me, he doesn't exactly belong. He's tugging unnaturally at his collar, but stops when Luna pats him gently on his arm and mouths, _It's going to be okay. There aren't any nargles here. _

I can't help but grin when reluctantly, he puts down his arm and nods his head to her. Very un-Blaise-like, and absolutely _lovely, _the way he just gets so unlike himself around her_._

Sooner or later, he finds his way towards where I am—somewhere at the farther edge of the garden—looking positively embarrassed.

"What a surprise to see _you _here, Zabini," I chuckle.

"I could say the same for you, Malfoy."

"What ever happened to that plan of yours where you weren't going to let a certain little secret out?"

Stiffly, he mutters, "Some things changed."

"Ah."

The band begins to play a little jig. Blaise is watching that weird blonde woman, with daffodils in her hair and paperclips round her neck dancing with a little boy with pink hair, and I'm witness to the first time his eyes soften almost imperceptibly and a little tug at the corner of his mouth gives way to a tiny smile. And in all his honesty and for the guards dropped in this little instant, I'm happy for my friend. In the face of love, all men are idiots. Apparently, _he _is a living testimony to such a thing.

In a bizarre way, I know I am, too.

"So what's up with you and Granger?" he says to me a bit later, when the music's changed and we're drinking to the night.

"I'm only going to say this once, alright?" I drink what's left of my wine and turn to face him. "You were right."

He gives me _that look. _He has the nerve to look _smug_. That git. "Of course I'm right," he says, "I knew what I was talking about and you didn't believe me. Then again, you were still pretty much in denial then, weren't you?"

"Oh, shut up."

"You should just go ahead and tell her, you know, to get that pining look off your face. Who knows, it might be remedied with a good snog."

"What, you're some expert now? And I'm not _pining, _you dolt."

"I fancy I am." And with a quick glance over, "And of course you are. It's quite obvious."

"You're an idiot."

"That makes two of us."

Somehow, this conversation sounds familiar, but I don't push it further. This time, he wins the argument. It's true that he's right. He's _always _been right. He was right about everything. Automatically, I scan the crowd and spot _her_ beneath the evening lights, looking absolutely beautiful in the white dress she's wearing. She's talking to the youngest Weasley just then, but when I stare long enough, as I expect, her eyes find mine and the world stops.

It's quiet like I know it should be. And everything is just bloody beautiful, when I know that right now, she's the only one just _there, _in front of me.

**vii. it's you**

It's funny how things work out. We're still dressed in the clothes we wore to Weasley's wedding, and for the nth time, we're seated just outside her porch, the same way we were at that time.

It's been more than a year that I've bumped into her, and _everything _has changed. My plans, my stupid beliefs, _everything. _And for all those changes, I'm grateful to her, and to the bloody fates, and to just about every infinitesimal particle that conspired to bring us together, where we are now.

The world hasn't changed one bit since I've come back; I'd still seen it in the gathering, with the cloudy looks of distrust thrown at me from a distance. Truth be told, it still bothered me just a tad bit.

Longbottom had been there, and on a whim, as I was passing him by the buffet table, I'd slipped him a muttered apology and didn't look back. I gather he was a bit baffled by the way he gawked at me later on in the evening. But it felt good, you know, to get that off my chest and feel just a tiny percent _good _about myself. People don't expect people like me to do that, but sometimes, I think it's fun to throw them a bit off course and surprise them. In the long run, I've even bewildered myself more than once.

But right now, it's not about me and the _rest_ of the world.

It's just about me and the girl who's sitting right beside me at this instance. And everything, _everything, _boils down to the silence and comfort and this idiot who's fallen in love.

"Your hair is atrocious."

"Just because your hair is gorgeous doesn't mean you can attack mine. One day, Draco Malfoy, you'll be crying when all that falls and your hairline _recedes._"

"Ha! That'll be the day."

"Oh, just you wait, Malfoy. It _will._"

I chuckle.

A spring breeze blows over us, and I hear her sigh in comfort. And when she shifts just a bit closer to where I am, I feel our fingers touching.

"I actually like your hair, you know," I murmur quietly.

"Really?"

"It's quite the character; it's—well—_you._ And I—"

I stop at that.

I _like _you. I _love _you. My heart's racing.

She's looking at me expectantly. "You…what?"

And right then, I turn to look at our hands, our fingers that are touching, and look back up at her, her eyes gleaming and wide and almost… anxious.

"Crazy."

It isn't quite what I imagined to say in my head. Obviously, she was thinking the same thing, too, because she blinks in confusion and says, "What?"

"I—" My chest is painful. "I—I—you bloody make me go insane, Granger. In the good way. In an _incredible _way. Ever since that day in the café, ever since—ever since _everything _started. In a year, I've _known _a lot about you, and I like everything—_everything _that has to do with you. You _knew _me, but well, you looked past everything I've done to you and to everyone else, and you're a bloody saint for doing that, and all those times we've spent together? They're _priceless. _And—and—oh, to hell with it, I _love you, _damn it."

There, I've said it. Not in the best possible way, 'course, but it's out in the open and I feel so, so _small _right now.

And for all the world, there is nothing more gratifying than seeing her smile after thoroughly embarrassing myself by saying all of that. _Dazzingly. _Brilliantly. Beautifully. _At me. ME._ And I couldn't understand what was happening.

The first possibility is that she's about to laugh at me. It looks that way; it's just about right that she does, anyway, because another possibility, any _other _particular possibility _is _almost unheard of.

And faintly, I can practically hear my heart breaking. Oh, Merlin.

"Look, Granger, you don't have to be evil about it and look at me like that. You're about to laugh your bloody head off, aren't you? I obviously haven't done this before, and if you're about to scar me and my pride (_and my heart, oh, my bloody effing stupid heart, _I think) in the next two minutes, then _please _be nice about it and just do it quickly."

She's still grinning at me like some madwoman, and I'm preparing for the worst.

And before I know it—

"Oh!"

Her arms are around my neck; she's hugging me fiercely, and my arms are just limp by my sides and I feel very, very confused just now. It's all over the place, my insides. I'm getting suffocated, by the way she's almost cutting my air with her hold and my nose is pushed through her thick hair. Well, if she _wanted _to kill me, there would have been easier ways… An _Avada _would have sufficed…

Somewhere near my neck, I feel her warm breath. "I thought you didn't like falling in love," she murmurs. Her breath tickles me.

"I don't," I reply softly. "Didn't have a choice, though, did I?"

She giggles. "No. No, you didn't."

"And what about Astoria Greengrass?"

"She was no one. You know Mother only made me put up with her." I say. "I didn't know _everything_ was happening, and didn't know where I was headed exactly."

"Yes, I understand that." Of course she does. She understands perfectly. She always does. But wait… _what_?

"What?"

Because she shouldn't be saying vague things like that, confusing me even more. Hell, I _feel _my hopes rising, when I know that there are huge chances of them all crashing down and crushing me.

She pulls away and looks me squarely in the eye. They're bright. Then—

"_You _drive me crazy, Malfoy."

And then she kisses me, and all the fireworks let loose, and just then, right now, oh, bloody Merlin, _she loves me. _I feel like the luckiest chap in the world.

**viii**. **the magic position**

It's interesting how everything just happens so fast, and how much things change in so little time.

It's Father's death day again, and I'm wearing black, and Mum's at home, crying her head off and drinking 'til she's pissed drunk.

This year, I bring orchids.

"Hey, Dad." That's always the first thing I say.

And always, there's no answer. I'm used to it, and the sting has passed; nowadays, it just feels like a glum sigh whenever I think of Father.

"How are you?"

An autumn breeze blows past me ever so slightly, and I smile. Somewhere, he's here and he's listening. Listening to his only son who's just about to begin life once again. Listening to his boy who wants everything to be okay.

And everything _will _be okay, because I'm his son. Today, I'm certain of that.

"I'm fine, Dad." I put down the flowers. "A lot of things have happened since the last time, and mum's fine and I'm—I'm—"

Happy. Insanely fortunate. Satisfied. Couldn't ask for more.

Because there's this girl. Dreadful hair and incredible smile. Knows too much about everything and just _gets _me. There's this girl who just makes the world just a tiny bit better, for me. There's this girl I'm bloody thankful for.

There's this girl…

And somewhere, somewhere, she loves me.

I look down at my left hand. And in the daylight, it gleams.

**end**


End file.
